reveal this foremost fact in a policy of which he was
in secret the soul. He wept profusely when he first received Francis
Aerssens, but after these "useless tears," as the Envoy called them, he
soon made it manifest that there was no more to be expected of France, in
the great project which its government had so elaborately set on foot.

Villeroy was now sixty-six years of age, and had been secretary of state
during forty-two years and under four kings. A man of delicate health,
frail body, methodical habits, capacity for routine, experience in
political intrigue, he was not personally as greedy of money as many of
his contemporaries, and was not without generosity; but he loved power,
the Pope, and the House of Austria. He was singularly reserved in public,
practised successfully the talent of silence, and had at last arrived at
the position he most coveted, the virtual presidency of the council, and
saw the men he most hated beneath his feet.

At the first interview of Aerssens with the Queen-Regent she was drowned
in tears, and could scarcely articulate an intelligible sentence. So far
as could be understood she expressed her intention of carrying out the
King's plans, of maintaining the old alliances, of protecting both
religions. Nothing, however, could be more preposterous than such
phrases. Villeroy, who now entirely directed the foreign affairs of the
kingdom, assured the Ambassador that France was much more likely to apply
to the States for assistance than render them aid in any enterprise
whatever. "There is no doubt," said Aerssens, "that the Queen is entirely
in the hands of Spain and the priests." Villeroy, whom Henry was wont to
call the pedagogue of the council, went about sighing dismally, wishing
himself dead, and perpetually ejaculating, "Ho! poor France, how much
hast thou still to suffer!" In public he spoke of nothing but of union,
and of the necessity of carrying out the designs of the King, instructing
the docile Queen to hold the same language. In private he was quite
determined to crush those designs for ever, and calmly advised the Dutch
government to make an amicable agreement with the Emperor in regard to
the Cleve affair as soon as possible; a treaty which would have been
shameful for France and the possessory princes, and dangerous, if not
disastrous, for the States-General. "Nothing but feverish and sick
counsels," he said, "could be expected from France, which had now lost
its vigour an